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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24698284">Strummin' in the sun and you've got your feet up</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/verynotconcise/pseuds/verynotconcise'>verynotconcise</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>2 years after THAT summer, But Beverly's still in Derry, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, I'm tagging it because I'm not sure if it applies but I believe in better safe than sorry, Internalized Homophobia, Love Confessions, Mentions of homophobia, Multi, also idk what's gong on with bill/bev/ben but i guess they sort that out somehow in the future, but also not really, cuddles?? i guess, eddie's trauma of falling, just because DERRY, kind of, kind of too, mentions of sona kaspbrak's manipulativeness and stuff i guess too i guess, ooo there's crying too, snuggles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:22:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,839</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24698284</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/verynotconcise/pseuds/verynotconcise</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts, as it always does, with Richie. To be more specific, it starts with Richie’s hand on his shoulder, followed shortly with a light squeeze that goes straight to Eddie’s heart like a jumpstart, that causes a temporary short circuit in his brain.</p><p>The problem, surprisingly, wasn’t Richie— it was Eddie.</p><p> </p><p>or: Eddie realises that Richie has been touching him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>102</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Strummin' in the sun and you've got your feet up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is the first time i have written something in a few months and for a new fandom so i'm really happy i completed it (24 baby :^D). thank you to sy for always liking my struggle tweets and proofreading my shit. you're a gem.</p><p>and warning and apologies ahead for ooc-ness :^( i tried lol.</p><p>title taken from The Neighbourhood's Paradise, one of my favs ever.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It starts, as it always does, with Richie. To be more specific, it starts with Richie’s hand on his shoulder, followed shortly with a light squeeze that goes straight to Eddie’s heart like a jumpstart, that causes a temporary short circuit in his brain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The </span>
  <em>
    <span>problem</span>
  </em>
  <span>, surprisingly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> Richie— it was Eddie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To be fair to himself, Eddie should say that it was actually Bill’s fault. And if he dug further into the root of the problem, Eddie couldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> blame Bill either, because it wasn’t his fault that he had to go and get a crush on Beverly, and it wasn’t his fault that all of the Losers had gone to the Aladdin theatre to catch Terminators 2, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>Richie</span>
  </em>
  <span> had been raving about it enough that the Losers were more than happy to watch the movie with him if it meant shutting him up for once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been a nice movie so far, with everyone sitting in their somewhat usual position, which meant that Richie was next to Eddie at the end of the row, and Bill had snuck himself a seat next to Beverly, to nobody’s surprise. And although Ben was happy to be on Beverly’s other side, Eddie had seen the way that the boy’s little smile dimmed just a bit when the lights had gone out and Bill and Beverly grew more comfortable in their own little bubble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie had been so engrossed in the movie (not that he’d ever admit to Richie, of course) that he hadn’t noticed any new Bill-Bev action until halfway through the movie, when Bill had very conspicuously lifted his arm and slid it across Beverly’s backseat, looking a second away from throwing up into the bucket of popcorn on his lap. Jesus, Bill was sitting with his back ramrod straight and eyes staring daggers into the screen, it was impossible not to notice his obvious discomfort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beverly, bless her heart, glanced up before leaning in closer to Bill. Eddie thought he could visibly see the anxiety puffing out of Bill with a less conspicuous sigh from the boy. Eventually, the pair settled on a position with her head on the edge of his shoulder, and his hand lightly draped around hers. It was a compromise position because Eddie could see that the weight of Bill’s arm wasn’t fully settled on her shoulder, and neither was her head comfortably nestled on his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would snigger at this if he weren’t in a movie theatre, because come </span>
  <em>
    <span>on</span>
  </em>
  <span> Bill. Eddie shook his head, more to himself than anything, turning back to the screen with a smile playing on his lips. He’s happy for Bill, and Beverly, although sometimes he did feel a bit bad for Ben. But he was also happy for Bill, because Bill deserved to be happy too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaned back in his seat and let his head fall back to its original position, which was sideways and towards the general direction of a certain Richie Tozier. Almost automatically, Richie moved rightward, letting Eddie’s weight rest on his arm nicely, before throwing his arm over Eddie’s narrow shoulders, grasping on it with a light squeeze. This way, Eddie could feel the heat coming off Richie’s skin, and it was a familiar touch on his shoulder that he would never feel the urge to shake off, just because it’s the way it’s always been. Richie and Eddie, Eddie and Richie, always together somehow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smile on his lips turns a bit more private at the thought, Richie and Eddie. That’s the way it’s always been.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then suddenly, Eddie stiffens against Richie’s side, his eyes widening minutely as his breathing becomes heavier. Because wasn’t this exactly what he saw Bill and Bev doing just a minute ago? Getting cozy with each other, snuggling in their seats? And here he was, with Richie’s arm around Eddie, hands trailing across skin and with his head leaning fully against Richie, comfortable in the way that Bill and Bev only hoped to be one day?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as suddenly as the thought came to him, he realised that the heat rolling off Richie was no longer nice and familiar, but something awkward with unpleasantness slowly simmering beneath it. The touch on his shoulder was starting to burn, and the weight on his shoulder was getting too heavy for comfort, becoming a burden he had to carry instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trying not to distract Richie from the movie (or rather, trying not to attract Richie’s attention), Eddie quietly untangled himself from Richie’s gangly limb, trying to do it in a casual and leisurely way, as if he was just changing position to make himself more at home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediately, Richie’s eyes were on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Sup, Eds?” Richie asked in a low voice, adjusting his glasses as if it could help him to see Eddie better in the dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um,” Eddie hesitated, which, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, why did he ever? That was a dead giveaway. Eddie hardly ever hesitates with Richie. “It’s nothing, just feeling a bit stuffy here. And staying in one position is bad for your blood circulation, too. Just needed to move a bit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie frowned, “Alright..?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s eyes dart around before leaning forward wearing a grave expression, “Do you need to pee or something, man? Cause as much as I enjoy our private pee breaks together, I don’t think I’d leave the theatre for a pee break in the middle of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Terminator 2</span>
  </em>
  <span> even for you, Eds. But the good news is that I’m nearly done with my coke, so you can take the cup if you’re really urgent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie almost squeaks out an “I’m fine!” before he registers the latter part, uttering out a dry “Shut up, Rich. That’s so not funny.” instead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie chuckles Eddie’s (admittedly) petulant look, nudging him with an elbow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone kicks their seats from behind. Richie turns around to flip them the bird before turning to face Eddie again, with a small frown still on his lips. He stares at Eddie long enough to make him feel self-conscious, searching for something, and it’s long wondering if there was a pimple or something on his face. Eddie’s about to say something when Richie shrugs, casual as ever, before he throws his arm over the back of Eddie’s seat. It’s not as comfortable as it was before, but Eddie’s not complaining much because he can still feel the ghost touch of Richie’s fingers on his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While it’s obvious to Eddie that Richie is not sold, at all, but would be dropping the topic for the time being and waiting for a more convenient time to talk about it. But Eddie knows Richie, which means that if he could go back to being normal again, there’s a large chance that Richie might drop the topic altogether. But the problem was that Eddie could feel a difference within himself, and he wasn’t sure if it was possible for him to ever be </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> close to Richie again without that image of Bill and Bev flashing in his thoughts like a neon sign board in the dark, a flashing warning sign that says “DANGER AHEAD, DO NOT PROCEED”.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They cycle to Bill’s house noisily after the movie, arguing with each other over the best and worst scenes of the movie. Stan cuts them off everytime by arguing for the superiority of Arnold Schwarzenegger going </span>
  <em>
    <span>heroically</span>
  </em>
  <span> into the molten-metal as the best scene of the movie, period. Richie, being Richie, argues that Stan is just romanticising self-sacrificial scenes. Stan retorts that it wasn’t really a self-sacrifice. Beverly rolls her eyes and teases Richie for crying at the end, while Bill, Ben and Mike have a very civil conversation at the tail end of their group about a possible sequel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie is relatively subdued for the entire ride there, thoughts spinning wildly in his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they filter into the living room, Eddie heads for the loveseat while the others begin to take their usual seats around. He makes himself comfortable, throwing his legs up on the other cushion and crossing them at the ankles, leaning against the handrest with his arms supporting his head. The other Losers continue chatting about the movie when Bill and Richie stride in later, arms loaded with snacks and drinks that they dump unceremoniously on the coffee table in the middle of the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Help y-yourselves,” Bill says, smiling proudly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie steals a packet of skittles from the pile and his eyes light up when he finds Eddie alone on the loveseat. Eddie has no clue why Richie is even surprised to see him there anymore, this always happens exactly like this. Eddie will be casually resting there until his peaceful moments are interrupted by one Richie Tozier, squeezing himself into Eddie’s personal space like a parasite until Eddie relents and creates a Richie-sized space for Richie to get comfy in. It’s basically routine by now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie throws his arms up happily, “Eddie Spaghetti!” he cries, bouncing over to Eddie, which is still routine. Routine is broken when Eddie begins to </span>
  <em>
    <span>panic</span>
  </em>
  <span> and immediately moves over, instead of playing the usual back-and-forth bickering game with Richie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie stops a foot away from Eddie, tilts his head to the side and blinks. All in that sequence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t wanna have to fight with you again, you’re so annoying whenever you do that.” Eddie grumbles out quickly, almost too quickly for it to be natural. And then, as an afterthought, “And don’t call me Eddie Spaghetti. You know I hate that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It </span>
  <em>
    <span>should</span>
  </em>
  <span> be something that bounces easily between them by now, but it falls flat. There’s something missing in Eddie’s words today and it is only too noticeable. Richie’s face goes through a series of expressions before he settles on a doubtful one, suspiciously taking the seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay..?” Richie says, more like a question than anything. Eddie swallows thickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It feels weird between them, and it’s never felt weird between them before. Not like this. They’ve had really deep and private conversations about their families and some other insecurities before (Richie’s height had been something that bothered Richie sometimes, and Eddie was always afraid of how puberty wasn’t being nice to him, for one), but it’s never been as weird as it is now. This is a new kind of awkwardness, brought by the weird feeling that accompanies the thought of him and Richie leaning against each other as Bill and Bev had in the movie theatre. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Richie drawls, throwing his arm leisurely around Eddie as he always does. It’s not something that Eddie usually takes notice of, but he becomes hyper aware of it now, his eyes tracking the movement, “I practiced like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hardcore</span>
  </em>
  <span>, over the past 2 days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Streetfighter. I think I could beat you playing with just one hand now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>physically</span>
  </em>
  <span> impossible, dude. You need, like, two hands to control the controller </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> the button. How’re you gonna do that with one hand?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Consider it my way of levelling the playing field between us, Eddie. Out of the kindness of my heart. I don’t like you to be playing with such a big disadvantage anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Disadvantage? What— what disadvantage?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your tiny hands.” Richie laughs, “You need both to just move the controller, anyway. We’ll be even!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie rolls his eyes, “Screw you, asshole. I don’t have tiny hands, you’re just overgrown you big fuckwad. Why do you even need such big hands, anyway? You hardly ever use them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I’ll have you know that my hand is </span>
  <em>
    <span>extremely</span>
  </em>
  <span> skilled at multiple things, Streetfighter is just one of them.” Richie pauses thoughtfully, “Although it’s not the most impressive thing it’s skilled at.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie waggles his brows at Eddie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh,” Eddie says, throwing off Richie’s arm, “That’s fucking disgusting, Rich. Besides, you can’t keep ‘tickling your pickle’, you might get chaffing and that’ll be extremely painful for you. And— and what if you can’t get it up anymore? What if you do it so often that you get </span>
  <em>
    <span>desensitised</span>
  </em>
  <span> to it and you actually cannot get it up when you need to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, Eds, that’s why you have to use some lubricants. Besides, your mother likes it—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up, Richie! It </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> possible to have a chafing problem even </span>
  <em>
    <span>with</span>
  </em>
  <span> lubrication, you moron!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, please, enlighten me, Dr. K. Expert researcher in the field of chafed dicks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie glowers at Richie, snatching the packet of skittles and ripping the top in frustration. “Okay, seriously, how do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>know that?” he takes a moment to pop a red skittle into his mouth, chew on it before continuing, “You’re like, the first person who should, with all the stupid dick jokes you keep making. And secondly, is it funny to you? Joking about fucking my mom? Like, seriously?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gee, Eddie, I’ve only been making a billion jokes about it. What </span>
  <em>
    <span>gave</span>
  </em>
  <span> you the idea that I find it funny?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Screw you, man. Just so you know..”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As quickly as the tension came, it left. Richie always had a way of making Eddie’s worries dissipate, even if it was a result of one too many “your mom” jokes. And it was fine on most days. Eddie knew that it was just Richie’s way of communicating with Eddie, his way of showing concern for him. In the same way, Eddie responded to all of Richie’s bad jokes even when the rest of the Losers had ignored Richie. It was their language no one else understood. Richie and Eddie. Just like that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the middle of their conversation, Eddie lets his eyes drift to where Ben and Beverly were talking excitedly and animatedly about something. And then he lets his eyes trail after Bill’s quiet chuckle when Stan makes a joke about something that gets a guffaw from Mike. But no one else notices the way that Richie and Eddie bicker about whatever it is they were bickering about. Unconsciously, there’s a sigh of relief that escapes him, and Eddie doesn’t notice the way that his knee presses against Richie’s slightly harder, as if trying to maximise the surface area of skin contact between them. He doesn’t notice the way that Richie shifts his body so that it leans more towards Eddie, and the way that he mirrors that action. It comes so naturally to them that Eddie doesn’t notice it at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were chased away a few hours later when Bill’s mother started preparing dinner, calling for Bill to help her in the kitchen. The Losers had agreed to meet at the quarry the next day before they picked up their bikes and started riding back home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just before Eddie turned the corner down the road that separated Richie and Eddie’s house, Richie called out to Eddie. “See ya later!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie returned the smile, “See ya.” he said easily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a nice sunset. The sun was starting to dip below a large, puffy cloud, illuminating it in a way that looked as though rays of sunlight were shooting out of it like laser beams. The sky behind looked like a pastel watercolour painting, of pink and blues dancing together to give a nice shade of purple where they collided. There was a soft breeze against his face, ruffling his hair. A nice end to an overall nice day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie had almost forgotten the weird feeling stewing in his chest until he was in his room near midnight, flipping through the comics Richie had loaned him a few days prior. He was on his stomach with the comic book on his pillow, resting his chin on his left palm when a faint thud sound came from his window. It’s almost immediately followed by another soft thud, and then a louder thud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie pushes himself off his bed, unimpressed. Richie’s throwing sticks at his window again. Eddie opens his window to give Richie a look, and Richie beams up at him, pointing exaggeratedly to the door. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Safe to go?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Is what he’s really asking. Eddie rolls his eyes, pretends to heave a big sigh before giving a thumbs up. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Good to go</span>
  </em>
  <span>, is what he’s telling Richie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie nods and disappears into the dark. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s been their code ever since Eddie’s mother went crazily overprotective the summer 2 years ago when Eddie had broken his arm, and had essentially put Eddie in house arrest and banned any of the Losers from stepping foot into the Kaspbrak house. Her resentment was especially targeted at Richie, whom she called a dirty boy, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>dirty bird</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and forbade Eddie from being friends with him anymore. Obviously, it wasn’t very successful seeing as how they’re still hanging out almost every other day, but Sonia Kaspbrak learnt to keep her mouth shut about their friendship after Eddie had made a very strong point about it by having many rounds of arguments with her. If she wanted Eddie to still be </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> Eddie, Richie would continue to be Eddie’s friend. And that was that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>However, during the summer that he had spent under house arrest, Richie would sneak into the house when his mom had gone to sleep. Eddie would leave the front door open for Richie, and Richie would have to check with Eddie if his mom was already asleep before entering the house. Richie had initially suggested climbing the tree outside his window to climb into his room, but Eddie had immediately veto-ed the idea, calling it was dumb with a high possibility of Richie breaking something, possibly his non-existent brain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie falls back onto his bed, resuming his original position on the bed when his door creeps open quietly and closes with a gentle click. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do ye, sir” Richie bowed his head, approaching Eddie’s bed, “always ah pleasure t’ see you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, it is </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> possible for your British guy to regress,” Eddie deadpans without lifting his gaze from the comic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Eds, if only you could appreciate the wonders of the British guy.” Richie replied, still grinning at him. Eddie made a noncommittal noise, flipping a page. “Hey, which one are you reading?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shazam,” Eddie replies, nodding his head in approval, “It’s actually pretty good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Duh, obviously. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> recommended it to you.” Richie rolls his eyes, sitting down at the edge of Richie’s bed, craning his neck to look over Eddie’s shoulder. It was a motion that was practically a habit now. Richie sitting on the bed, Eddie moving over to give Richie some space, and then Richie crawling into the recently vacated space, reading the comic book together. Eddie will nod when he’s done and Richie will turn the page, making whatever commentary along the way. The way it’s always been.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except this time, when Richie laughs at a panel on the left side of the comic book, nearer to where Eddie was lying, Richie’s warm breath fans over Eddie’s cheek. Eddie’s head snaps up, turning his head to find Richie’s face just over his shoulder. Richie was reading the left page over Eddie’s shoulder. And he’s so close that Eddie can feel his breath on his cheek, can feel the weight of Richie’s body next to his, the way that their legs are intertwined and arm flushed against his arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s amazing how a single movement can make Eddie so aware of every nerve ending in his body, and it’s almost too much with the way that they’re pasted together. Richie is too </span>
  <em>
    <span>close</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Eddie feels overwhelmed with the sensation of Richie on his skin, the thoughts of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Richie, Richie, Richie</span>
  </em>
  <span> flooding his mind and the way that his chest twinges at the possibility of admitting how </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> it feels, how </span>
  <em>
    <span>natural</span>
  </em>
  <span> it feels to be with Richie like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie slaps the book shut and scrambles up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, what the fuck, dude? I was reading that.” Richie says, craning his neck to shoot Eddie a quizzical, but classic, WTF? look that he patented.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“H-Haven’t you read this already?” Eddie says, deflecting, “Aren’t you bored?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie scrunches his nose in confusion, pushing himself up on his hands. “What the dick are you talking about, Eddie? I always re-read my comics with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but..” Eddie trails off, worrying his lower lip between his teeth, “I mean, don’t you ever get bored of this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie blinks once, sitting up properly now. He takes off his spectacles to wipe them with his undershirt slowly before sliding them on again, facing Eddie with a blank face. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie opens his mouth instinctively to say something snappy, but closes it a second later when nothing comes out. He ends up in a staring competition with Richie, both boys looking at each other without knowing what to say, for what Eddie thinks might be the first time ever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie breaks the silence at last, huffing dismissively, “Forget it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hopes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>prays</span>
  </em>
  <span> to a God he doesn’t entirely believe in, that Richie would just forget it, because if Richie asked, Eddie wouldn’t know how to explain it away either. He could say that he ate something and felt sick, but that wasn’t true, and Eddie was a bad liar (or Richie was just good at reading him). He could say that that had been a thought he had for months, but never asked until now, and maybe it would be a half-truth. He knew why he hadn’t ever asked Richie if he was bored before, because if he did, then Richie might find it to be true and stop coming over, and that seemed like a bad option.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite everything Eddie had said, he knows that Richie’s company is something he’s come to enjoy quite a bit. He might even go so far as to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>treasure</span>
  </em>
  <span> on a good day. Today may be a relatively good day, but it is not that good a day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie looks at the empty space between them for a long moment, his face still blank. Eddie’s heart is </span>
  <em>
    <span>pounding</span>
  </em>
  <span> in his chest so hard he thinks it might explode. Then, Richie asks, “Are you okay, Eds?” a moment passes, “You look a bit sick.” Richie says. Eddie knows that Richie is giving him an out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is a long pause, both of them waiting for each other to say something, although Eddie knows that he should be the one to break the silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I.. I don’t know why I said that.” Eddie admits, before continuing, “I must have eaten something bad. I feel weird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s brows dip momentarily before he laughs, but it sounds harsh in the silence of the room. Unnatural. “Why didn’t you say that earlier? I would’ve whipped out my best chicken soup for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Eddie frowns, “You can cook chicken soup?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who else do you think cooks the chicken soup that your mom feeds you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My mom doesn’t give me chicken soup.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly!” Richie says cheerily, moving into the empty space between them and filling it with his laughter and tasteless jokes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie can’t remember what he said in reply because he’s overwhelmingly grateful that Richie has dropped the subject, although part of him feels ashamed for not being honest with his friend. But he can’t really be honest with Richie about something that he doesn’t know. It’s true. He can’t explain why he’s starting to feel a bit nervous by Richie’s presence around him, the way that Richie ignores the concept of personal space and drapes his lanky frame over Eddie’s smaller one. Eddie can’t explain the way that he both enjoys the touch of Richie’s slightly rougher skin and hates how he’s becoming aware of the heat radiating off the other boy. The way that Bill and Bev’s silhouettes haunt his thoughts, and the way he remembers being with Richie in the theatre, way more comfortable than his friends were trying to get.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they get tired not too long later, Richie says, “We should probably sleep. You’re not feeling too hot and today has been pretty exhausting, honestly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right.” Eddie agrees. Richie throws the comic on the floor and jumps off the bed, reaching for the lights while Eddie gets comfortable under his covers. But then Richie turns off the lights and crawls back onto Eddie’s bed, lifting the covers and snuggling in too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’re you doing?” Eddie asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Going to sleep?” Richie replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Seriously, Eddie, what—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if my mom comes in and finds you here, in my </span>
  <em>
    <span>bed</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Eddie whispers harshly, conspiratorially. In the darkness, Eddie can feel Richie turning on his side to face Eddie, sliding a hand under his head as he does so. “You know she banned you from stepping into the house—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I’ll just climb out of your window—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Richie!” Eddie’s hand does the what Richie has coined </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Karate Chop</span>
  </em>
  <span>, with a ™, slicing the air between their faces expertly. “What if you break your arm or leg when you fall, or what if you fall and become paralysed? Or what if you go into a coma because you hit your head? Or—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jeez, Eddie, it’s okay.” Richie says over Eddie, his other hand finding Eddie’s hand hovering between them and wraps his fingers around his wrist. It stops Eddie midtrack, because his brain freezes and fizzles out pathetically at the touch of Richie’s fingers around his wrist, Richie’s thumb rubbing circles into the skin where his blue and green veins protrude slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s going to be okay. I’m really worried about you. Shit, man, you’ve been jumpy all day today and looking at me as if you’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> caught me kissing and feeling up your mom at night or something. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>whole</span>
  </em>
  <span> day! And.. I want to make sure that you’re alright. Wouldn’t want anything wrong with my Eddie Spaghetti.” Richie says, his voice unrecognisably sincere and gentle. The affection in Richie’s voice shocks Eddie enough to stop his automatic responses, “Don’t call me that” or “That’s not my name” so instead of saying something, Eddie’s mouth is left agape. He’s slightly thankful for the dark, or Richie would see the look on his face and tease him about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sensing some remaining displeasure from Eddie, Richie sighs, somewhat put-off, “Look, I’ll leave before your mom wakes, promise. She won’t even know I was here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the weak light that filters in from the streetlamp outside his window, Eddie can see the shape of Richie’s head, with the soft curls that point in many directions, and the slow rise and fall of his chest sideways. He can trace the outline of their hands and if he tries really hard, maybe he can even see the way that Richie is looking at him. It starts the weird feeling in his chest again, and his palms begin to feel wet this time. It’s an unpleasant, sticky feeling. Eddie pries his hand away, but he doesn’t push Richie away, nor does he try to move himself away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, but don’t come too close. I don’t want you to catch whatever I have.” he says lamely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie nods— Eddie can see the shape of his head bobbing. “Your wish is my command, your highness.” Richie says in the worst British accent he can fake. This, at least, gets Eddie to scoff and to slap Richie’s head, although it was more delicate than the other times he did it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last thing Eddie remembers before falling asleep is Richie telling him a rumour about some other kid in their high school who was caught giving a quickie to someone at the back of the school during English period. It should be ridiculous. This wasn’t a bedtime story in the way parents might narrate Cinderella or Snow White to their children before they tuck them in for the night. It was a rumour about getting caught giving a </span>
  <em>
    <span>quickie</span>
  </em>
  <span>, for god's sake. And yet, the way that Richie was speaking to him, so understated, in the covers of the darkness, lulls Eddie into the most restful sleep that he’s had in a long time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For some reason, he dreams of being at the quarry. However, only Richie is there, skipping stones while Eddie sits a few metres away and watches him pick up pebbles, feeling them in his palm before flicking his wrist expertly and then repeating the cycle. In his dream, Richie is silent and focused as he tosses the stones. Which is a shame. Not that he’d ever tell Richie this, but Eddie has always thought that Richie had a really nice voice when he’s not actively trying to be irritating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he was even more honest with himself, Eddie would also admit that Richie had a nice voice even when he’s being irritating. But he’s never going to admit that aloud, not even to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In this dream, neither of them are talking. It’s a comfortable quiet, the kind you can’t find often with other people. It’s the kind that is warm between them, an easy space where they navigate with ease, having been in it too many times to count. It’s the kind where Eddie can watch Richie’s back openly, without having to hide his gaze or pretend to be doing something else, and Richie would turn back every now and then with a grin on his face, a gummy smile. He’ll push his spectacles up the bridge of his nose and point at the fading ripples on the surface of the water, suppressing the urge to jump in excitement.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Did you see that? Did you see how far it went?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And Eddie can smile back at Richie instead of having to fight him all the time. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever thrown one that far before.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And Richie’s smile widens even more at that. With the sunlight reflecting off the uneven surface of the greenish water, and the way that the trees rustle when birds take flight, it almost feels like a picture of heaven. It’s a perfect peacefulness, and Eddie feels so at home there that when he wakes up slowly to the bright light pouring through his window, lighting up the empty half of his bed like a spotlight on center stage, Eddie finds stray tears rolling down his cheeks. His hands ghost the empty space on the bed in front of him, finding it cold. There’s no lingering warmth, which means that Richie must have left sometime ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if on cue, his mother’s room door creaks open, and he can hear her footsteps padding across to the staircase. He lies awake for a few moments, listening to her starting the kettle in the kitchen while humming a tune to herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pushes himself up on an unsteady arm and stares at the space in his bed for a while longer, not thinking of anything but the image of Richie beaming at him in the quarry. Carefully, he wipes away the tear tracks from his face and finds that there are more, fresh tears falling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a while for him to bring his knees to his chest and to bury his face in the space between. It takes even longer for him to be able to think about it. The way that Richie makes him feel safe and happy. How he likes Richie’s attention on him, the way Richie wraps himself over Eddie. The way that they can share silence contentedly, without asking for anything else but their presence in return.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He likes Richie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie likes Richie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He muffles his sobs in his shirt, hugging his knees impossibly tighter.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The Losers meet at the quarry as planned. At this point, it’s tradition to hock a loogie and see who dives in first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie always abstains from jumping off ever since </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> summer 2 years ago, though. Falling through the second storey of a dilapidated house haunted by a cannibalistic clown with a distinct preference for children, breaking a table with his back </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> his arm in the process, was more than enough of “taking risks” and “being adventurous” for a lifetime. Everyone was more than understanding about it, giving him sympathetic looks every time he waited for them at the bottom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One by one, Eddie watches them fall into the quarry, creating a big splash and resurfacing soon after. There’s always some hollering and jeering following the splashes, but it’s all lighthearted. By this time, Eddie would be shrugging off his clothes and slowly wadding over to them. But he isn’t. Instead, he sits there with his arms folded across his knees, watching them from the shade of the trees that bend over him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t you coming in, Eddie?” Richie shouts from a distance away, wiping away strands of hair that sticks to his face uncomfortably.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie shakes his head. “I’m still feeling a bit unwell.” he lies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re unwell?” Ben asks, swimming next to Richie. This catches the attention of the group, which was not what Eddie had wanted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you need to see a doctor?” Mike chimes in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s alright. I was feeling a bit unwell last night. But it’s okay, I’m better now. But I’d rather not risk it, you know. Swimming like this, in dirty water, I could get infected again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a chorus of groans and some eye-rolls, but they relent and go back to doing what they were doing. Richie looks longer at Eddie, worriedly. He swims up until he can get a firm foothold and then clambers up to sit next to Eddie, in his white underwear and quarry water dripping from his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you manage to get a good sleep last night?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I did.” Eddie says, “I feel a lot better now. Thanks, Rich.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie smiles back at Eddie, “Bet it was due to you soaking up and basking in my </span>
  <em>
    <span>awesomeness</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You’re welcome for that, by the way. Now that I’ve basically nursed you back into health, I can resume my schedule of spending my nights in your mom’s bed instead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie gives Richie a kick, slapping his arm in quick succession. “Fuck you, Richie! And saying that you’re ‘awesome’ at this age is cringy as fuck. And not to mention that you should really be upgrading your jokes from jokes about </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> mom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but you like them anyway. And it is true— I’m awesome as hell. That’s how I make you laugh at my jokes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie has to roll his eyes, “Do not. You’re as funny as a Chemistry textbook.” he says without heat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like a pretty funny textbook if you ask me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you even </span>
  <em>
    <span>read</span>
  </em>
  <span> a single textbook in the previous year?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope,” Richie says, popping the ‘p’, “What for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie takes in a deep breath, feeling annoyance resurface, as it always tends to. “To, like, study?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie shrugs, looping his arm around Eddie’s neck and bringing him close to Richie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do I need to study when I could just be a trophy husband or something? I could be a kept man, accept one of your mom’s many propositions for once.” and then Richie blows into Eddie’s ear, causing Eddie to scream and kick Richie in protest, but Richie’s wet skin against his neck sends the metaphorical butterflies fluttering around in Eddie’s stomach. A small voice in Eddie’s head tells him to get away, pressing frantically on that “DO NOT PROCEED” warning sign. The larger voice in Eddie’s head tells him to enjoy the moment for what it's worth, because things will never be so simple again. Eddie believes it. If Richie ever finds out about his feelings, or if anyone ever finds out about his feelings for Richie, it’s probably over for him. His social life in Derry, a stuck in the middle of nowhere, backward as fuck, homophobic as </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> town, would be over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he has to memorise the way that Richie laughs, the way that Richie looks at Eddie as if he’s the only person that matters in the moment. He’s going to memorise it and put it away in the deepest recesses of his memory bank so that when (and it’s not a question of if, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>when</span>
  </em>
  <span>) he gets over Richie, things can go back to normal and Eddie can always recall the days when he had a crush on Richie by himself. A dirty secret of his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They fall into an agreeable quietness after Richie has released Eddie from his clutches. Both of them sit side by side, with Eddie’s knees still drawn to his chest while Richie has one leg stretched out in front of him, and another folded inward to his inner thigh, resting his weight on his hands behind him. Richie will occasionally poke Eddie’s thigh with the big toe of his stretched leg and it earns a yelp at the least, but otherwise things are pretty enjoyable. They watch Bill and Mike try to out splash each other while Stan floats in the water with his eyes closed, soaking in the sun. Ben and Bev are at the edge of the quarry, just enough for their legs to be submerged, having a conversation that makes Beverly hide her giggles behind her hand and for Ben to smile brighter than Eddie’s ever seen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s nice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie finds a lazy smile spreading across his lips. It’s going to be a nice memory to have, and Eddie’s sure that he’ll be reflecting a lot on this moment in the future. The way the birds chirp, the light breeze, the distant ruckus of the group, and Richie next to him. It’s intimate in a way that you can’t always get with skin on skin, because it’s a happiness that requires more than physical contact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s already missing the present while it’s still happening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Richie says, breaking Eddie’s reverie, “I wanna show you something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More than we saw at the quarry?” Eddie mimics, smirking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie pauses, then he blinks, and when it finally clicks, he laughs heartily, leaning against Eddie’s shoulder as he does. “Okay, okay, Eds gets off a good one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t call me that.” he replies automatically. Richie smiles. They both know by now that Eddie doesn’t mean that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie looks down at Richie fondly, and when Richie looks back at him, they both remain quiet until Richie gets to his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, come on, I really wanna show it to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Eddie says, already following Richie anyway, “It sounds kinda dubious. What’re you gonna show me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie looks over his shoulder, “It’s a secret.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie raises a sceptical brow but follows Richie anyway. They walk along a small path, which Eddie notices a few pebbles lining the way. Pebbles of different shapes and sizes. It’s a shaded path through the trees and between the gaps Eddie can see his friends still playing in the quarry. It goes around the circumference of the quarry in a way that Eddie has never seen before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, if this is a secret, then why are you showing it to me? Is it a thing? Are you going to be showing me something? Because if I follow you to somewhere quiet and you show me your penis, I swear to god, Rich, I’m gonna fucking kill you. Like, I’m gonna </span>
  <em>
    <span>kill</span>
  </em>
  <span> you so hard that your ghost will leave your body and then proceed to die as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s not a— it’s not a </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Eddie. And I’m not showing you my penis, either, no matter how badly you want to see it.” a pause, “Is that what you want to see? Really, dude? I mean, you could’ve just </span>
  <em>
    <span>asked</span>
  </em>
  <span> but I’m not gonna show it to you. That’s better left to the stuff of your fantasies, honestly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Screw you, man. I don’t wanna see your tiny dick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’ve thought about it before?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! I’m just </span>
  <em>
    <span>saying</span>
  </em>
  <span>—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Richie is grinning over his shoulder at Eddie, his thick eyebrows moving up and down his forehead like caterpillars in sync, “It’s okay to admit it, Eddie. You’re pretty cute yourself, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s face flushes immediately, “Stop saying shit like that, Rich. It’s not funny. And I honestly never know what to expect when it comes to you, dude. I mean, remember that time when we went bird watching with Stan and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Eddie raises his head, Richie’s pouncing on him. Both boys scream and shout as they fall onto the ground in a shapeless heap, but Richie rolls them over until he’s kneeling down, hands tickling Eddie’s torso mercilessly with practiced ease.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You little turd! You swore you’d never bring that up again!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck! Rich!” Eddie gasps between moments when he can get a breath in, “I said I’d never mention it in front of others!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dickface!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stupid jerk!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a few moments before Richie lets up, pulling himself away from Eddie, still on his knees. Eddie watches Richie catch his breath from the ground, hearing his staccato heartbeat in his ears and blood rushing to his face. He wonders if his face is a mirror image of Richie’s— red, eyes blown wide, mouth fallen slightly open. Richie’s hair is a mess. It’s drying slowly with clumps of wet hair still matted on his head, but there are loose strands of hair that fall gently around his face, framing it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie thinks Richie looks really good. His youth shines through his eyes, an innocence that Eddie hardly gets to see in Richie anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another few long moments pass before Richie gets up on his feet, offering a hand for Eddie to take.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>place</span>
  </em>
  <span>, asshole. Come on, I don’t wanna spoil it before we get there. Just follow me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie takes Richie’s hand, getting up as well. Distantly, Eddie thinks that Richie’s hands are too big, but it fits Richie. It’s big with long fingers, his calloused fingertips reminding Eddie of the way his own father’s hands were rough with years and decades of labour. But Richie’s palms are still soft, not yet touched by the realities of the real world and growing up. Eddie thinks that description fits Richie: hard on the surface, always trying to deflect things and make jokes out of everything that hits too close to home, but still a boy on the inside who doesn’t want to grow up yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie releases his hand afterwards, but they walk the rest of the way side by side, shoulders bumping into each other and the back of their hands grazing each other’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they reach the end of the path, marked by the clearing, Eddie can see that he’s on the other end of the quarry. It’s more secluded and definitely more quiet than where they were. From where he was standing, he can see the edge where he once dived off, and the space where all their folded clothes lay. His friends are specks in his vision, far enough that he can’t hear them anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie tugs on his arm, pulling him into the sunlight. “Come on, you can sit here and put your feet in the water.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t wanna put my feet in the water,” Eddie grimaces, “It’s gross.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Eds. I know you actually want to.” Richie winks, “I won’t tell anyone that Dr. K, knowledgeable in a wide area of medical research but specialises in </span>
  <em>
    <span>chafed dicks</span>
  </em>
  <span>, actually touched the quarry water.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s so not funny. Quarry water isn’t clean. It’s probably got all sorts of bacteria in it, seriously.” Eddie says, even as he’s taking off his shoes and socks to dip his feet into the water next to Richie. “And especially with the AIDs epidemic going around, and you know I’ve already told you this but my mom said that her friend in New York got it from a hangnail. Can you imagine—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where do you think we’ll be, ten years from now?” Richie interrupts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie pauses, “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where do you think we’ll be, ten years from now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Eddie shrugs nonchalantly, “Graduated from college with a well-paying job, I hope.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Richie says in a distant voice, “When I grow up, I’m gonna get the fuck out of Derry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie snorts, “Me too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I don’t really know what I’m gonna do yet. Could be a comedian or a radio host or whatever. I don’t even care if I end up busking in the streets, but there’s one thing I’m absolutely sure of, and that’s getting out of this shithole.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie looks down, moving his feet in small circles in the water. “You can’t busk, dipshit. You’d just starve to death. No one would give you any money for being a public nuisance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie gives Eddie a faint smile, clutching onto his chest in fake hurt. “Ouch, Eds. Vote of confidence, much?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just using my brain here, Rich. Someone has to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe I’ll move West Coast, people have a better sense of humour there. See if I remember you when I’m rich and famous, dickhead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Asshole.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They smile at each other, easy as anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, where do you wanna go?” Eddie finds himself asking, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Really</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Richie admits, frowning at the water, “but anywhere is better than here, probably. I wasn’t entirely joking about West Coast, though. Maybe I’ll move to California, make a name for myself in L.A. or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I can totally imagine that. Richie Tozier, better known by his stage name, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Trashmouth</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That’ll be hilarious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie squints at him, adjusting his glasses, “Is that a challenge? Because it sounds like a challenge to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a challenge if you’re game enough to accept it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha, funny. Alright, Dr. K, I’ll take it. Let’s see who’ll have the last laugh in a few years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie thinks about it briefly, “You know, it’ll be funny if I really do end up as a doctor, and you as an entertainer. If you do get that successful, maybe you can even buy your own Streetfighter machine. We could play it non-stop in your super cool basement or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, and we’ll probably have to listen to your medical advice if you actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> become a doctor..” Richie trails off, eyes looking far ahead into an imagined future, grimacing and actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>shuddering</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off, I’d be the best doctor there is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie snorts, but it’s fond. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Eddie mumbles, “You’re right, though. I want to get out of Derry, and I will, eventually. I don’t really wanna stay with my mom for the rest of my life. It’s suffocating.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t wanna stay with my parents either.” Richie adds solemnly. They don’t talk about how Eddie’s mom had lied to Eddie for more than half of his life, convincing him that he was sick and delicate and fragile and had to take all his pills and watch out for his asthma that he doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> have. They don’t talk about Richie’s negligent parents, felt by their absence rather than their presence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They fall back into silence again, splashing their legs in the water until someone decides to speak again. This time, it’s Eddie who speaks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. We’ll leave this place behind. We’ll make a better life for ourselves elsewhere.” Eddie says with some conviction in his voice. It’s wavering, but he tries to convince himself with it. He hopes it convinces Richie too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turns his head to catch Richie’s eye, only to find that Richie was already looking at him. There’s a small upward tug at the corner of Richie’s lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We?” Richie echoes hollowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Eddie says, confusion creeping into his voice, “What’s wrong with that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, nothing’s wrong.” Richie says, obviously lying. He looks down again, begins picking at his unevenly cut nails, at the dirt that has been scraped together under the sharp edges as he weighs his next words carefully, but trying to come off as casual and indifferent instead. “Just.. Do you mean ‘we’ as in the both of us, of ‘we’ as in together?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s brows draw together, his frown deepening. “What are you..”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, do you mean that we’ll leave Derry, </span>
  <em>
    <span>together</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Or that we’ll leave Derry, eventually?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a small difference. We, or </span>
  <em>
    <span>we</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But it has such different implications. Eddie is struck by the severity of the question that Richie has thrown out into the space between them, struck by the weight of the words, each bearing down unbearably on him. It’s not the question that Richie has asked, which is the problem, but the question left unasked that he struggles to answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Do we leave Derry together? Do we get together in the end? Do you like me enough to be with me, more than we are as friends? Do you like me enough to want to be in my future? Do you like me enough to want to have a future with me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And it’s enough for him to realise something else, about Richie. All along, Eddie had thought that when he saw Richie looking at him, it was just that. Richie was looking at Eddie Kaspbrak, his best friend (of course, Stan was Richie’s best friend too, but everyone also knew that it was inexplicably </span>
  <em>
    <span>different</span>
  </em>
  <span>). But Eddie had never thought that Richie had been </span>
  <em>
    <span>looking</span>
  </em>
  <span> at him. Looking at </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, as he truly is, with his extreme worries and fast, snappish words and insults, and all his insecurities. Looking at him in the same way that he realises he has been looking </span>
  <em>
    <span>back</span>
  </em>
  <span> at Richie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time, he realises that Richie’s always been looking. Eddie just never looked back, until now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie opens his mouth, finding that it has gone dry. Richie holds his breath, mouth falling open in anticipation and nervousness. His eyes look impossibly huge behind his magnifying glasses, a bead of sweat rolls down his neck. Richie doesn’t fidget as he usually does whenever he’s bored or restless, he sits still, waiting for Eddie’s reply as if his life depended on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, well, there were probably only two moments that Eddie can remember, off the top of his head, where Richie looked well and truly scared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first time was in the Neibolt house, when Eddie was cradling his broken arm to his chest, screaming and crying with Pennywise’s hand gripping his whole face in his palm. Richie and Bill had burst into the room and were seized with panic, and Eddie remembered the fright in Richie’s eyes through the spaces between Pennywise’s fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second time was when they went back into the Neibolt house and had found Beverly floating. When they met Pennywise again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both times, there was always a fear of death involved in it. And seeing the same fear reflected on Richie’s face, now gone pale with trepidation, Eddie wonders if this has the same gravity for Richie as meeting Pennywise does. Because it does, to Eddie. He truly hopes that he didn’t read the situation wrongly, didn’t mistake Richie’s question for something else. The moment was hanging by a very thin thread, and Eddie doesn’t want it to snap irrevocably.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope that..” Eddie’s voice trembles, but he clenches his fists and steels himself, mustering all the courage he can in that second, shutting his eyes. “I hope that in ten years, Richie, we can leave Derry..”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie had taken his leap of faith already, it’s time for him to do the same. Eddie takes a deep breath, murmuring the word, “together” so softly that it was almost drowned out by the noise of the background around them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a pregnant pause that draws out into what feels like an eternity. Curiosity overrides any sense of shame and terror he has at his confession, and Eddie slowly lifts an eyelid just enough to glimpse through it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie is smiling at Eddie, nose red with shiny eyes behind his glasses. When Eddie finally opens both his eyes, fully, Richie’s smile breaks into the brightest grin Eddie has ever seen, tears pooling over and falling down Richie’s flushed cheeks. Brighter than the sun beating down on them, brighter than the smile Ben gave to Beverly minutes ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s hand covers Eddie’s, cautiously. He glances up at Eddie as he does, asking, </span>
  <em>
    <span>is this okay?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie turns his hand over to clasp Richie’s, gripping it tightly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, it is. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Tears spill over and he finds himself crying, just like he did that morning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it’s also different, because this time he’s overcome with the realisation that he’s not alone in this feeling. It’s different because this time, Richie is next to him, with the sun shining down on the both of them. In the background, the trees are rustling and their friends are calling for them, and it’s even more perfect than any dream Eddie could ever dream of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know if they </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> actually leave Derry together in the future. All he knows now is, with Richie’s hand holding onto his tightly, that they have a shot at it. The future, together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie and Eddie. That’s the way it's always been. Just like that.</span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
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